Showing posts with label poem. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poem. Show all posts

The Wraggle-Taggle Gypsies (Anonymous)

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The Wraggle-Taggle Gypsies (Folk Song performed by Tears for Beer)



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There were three gypsies a come to my door,
And down stairs ran this a-lady, O.
One sang high and another sang low
And the other sang bonny bonny Biscay O

Then she pulled off her silk finished gown,
And put on hose of leather, O
The ragged ragged rags about our door
And she's gone with the wraggle, taggle gypsies O

It was late last night when my lord came home,
Inquiring for his a-lady O
The servants said on every hand
She's gone with the wraggle-taggle gypsies, O

O saddle to me my milk-white steed
And go and fetch me my pony, O
That I may ride and seek my bride,
Who's gone with the wraggle-taggle gypsies O

O he rode high, and he rode low
He rode through wood and copses too,
Until he came to a wide open field,
And there he espied his a-lady O

What makes you leave you house and land?
What makes you leave you money, O?
What makes you leave you new-wedded lord,
To follow the wraggle-taggle gypsies, O.

What care I for my house and land?
What care I for my money,O?
What care I for my new-wedded lord,
I'm off with the wraggle-taggle gypsies, O!

"Last night you slept on a goosefeather bed,
With the sheet turned down so bravely, O.
Tonight you'll sleep in a cold open field,
Along with the wraggle-taggle gypsies, O."

"What care I for a goose-feather bed,
With the sheet turned down so bravely, O.
For tonight I'll sleet in a cold open field,
Along with the wraggle-taggle gypsies, O.

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In Song Catcher from the Southern Mountains (New York: AMS Press, 1966) author Dorothy Scarborough says that in the earliest edition of the ballad, the gypsy is called Johnny Faa, a name common among gypsies. When the gypsies were banished from Scotland in 1624, Johnny Faa disobeyed the decree and was hanged.
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Guest Poet: AT THE "FEDERAL CENSORSHIP AND THE ARTS" SYMPOSIUM (Bill Knott)

Just as the Nazis never proscribed Rilke
(he was no Expressionist, no Degenerate,
no Art-Bolshevik), so most of us poets
are thought no threat by those in authority—

Halfhass, for instance, his books won't get banned:
his Rilkemanqué wins awards, his "spiritual
progress" and "earned words" (—to paraphrase Wilde,
his genius gives good guru Po-Biz style while

his talent brooks those so serious ergo poems)—
what might please our fuehrers even more is
his patriot's part in The American Poetry Series.

Better silence than that? Better to hide, to write
for one's cabinet? (To paraphrase Benn,
the aristocratic form of publication.)


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[Poet's] Note: This poem was deleted from my collected comic poems by the publisher, BOA, whose chief fund-raiser at the time was Robert Hass. . . .

I've often wondered if the BOA editors censored this poem on their own
initiative, or whether they were ordered to do so by Hass.


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Admin note: I have "propagated" this poem as per Bill Knott's statement to readers:

"ALL MY POETRY, EVERY POEM I'VE WRITTEN SINCE 1960, IS POSTED [ON MY SITE] FOR OPEN ACCESS, PERUSAL AND PROPAGATION: YOU HAVE MY THANKS TO PLEASE COPY/DISTRIBUTE WHATEVER YOU LIKE."


Poem copyright Bill Knott, August 2007

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